Midnight Stroll
by Orenda1
Summary: A warm night finds both Severus and Hermione at the lake's edge allowing their thoughts to wander. Goodguy!Snape. Indecisive plot bunnies.
1. Midnight Stroll

It was as the end of her seventh year drew to a close that she began taking walks at night. She knew she didn't have much longer at the school she had grown to love, and wanted to savor every minute that remained. Besides, as the nights grew warmer she found herself squirming beneath the sheets, sleeping fitfully when she finally did doze off. Ironic, that the only thing that could calm her nerves on those nights, and steady her breaths to an even rhythm until she slumbered, was listening to his voice inside her head. Why him? But before she asked the question, the answer was already there. Had she ever heard a more soothing voice?  
  
As a first year, that voice had scared and excited her, the vowels and consonants spilling gracefully off of his tongue to weave and hiss their way around the classroom. Now, his voice to her was reassuring. Familiar and smooth.  
  
She never saw him breath. One word rolled right into the next until he chose to stop time with one of his famous dramatic pauses. All of her classmates averted their gazes when he chose to do so. By their seventh year, few of the students were still as scared of their professor as they once were, but most were still wary of being singled out and picked on by the potions master.  
  
She was the only one who didn't look away. She had abandoned her foolish hand waving long ago, and now instead just calmly met his dark eyes with her own warm brown ones. The first time she did this she swore she caught a twinkling in her professor's eyes, not unlike the one that danced merrily in Dumbledore's. 'Go ahead, call on me,' her even stare said, 'we both know that I have the answer.'  
  
'Yes,' he thought, 'yes indeed you do'. She had grown dignified, he thought. Elegant, even. He watched her, sometimes, while pretending to grade papers. Of course, he kept an eye on all of the students during potions lab; safety required that he do so. Although he told himself at the beginning that it was a necessity that his attention linger longer on her lab bench, due to the ever impending blunderings of her lab partner, Neville, in time he admitted that this was no longer the case. She was a talented student, and he had watched over the years, as she learned to quickly and efficiently correct Longbottom's mistakes before Neville himself realized there was anything wrong. He knew he should change the seating arrangements, that Longbottom would never learn anything this way, but he couldn't bring himself to give up the pleasure of watching her work her magic.  
  
It was a rare student that came through Hogwarts having the skills of deduction and quick calculating mind required to bring the complex potions they brewed in seventh year back to perfection from the ruins that someone like Longbottom sent them to. He marveled at this, allowing himself a moment of whimsy as he wondered if she might somehow, with her calculating mind and swift graceful hands, restore him to some semblance of normalcy as she did the brewing potions. If I were brewing this particular potion, he thought darkly, I'd toss it away and start fresh. But Miss Granger...Hermione. She might just be stubborn enough to see it through.  
  
At this, he chuckled quietly, a sound that did not escape her notice.  
  
He had been watching her from the shadows as she slipped off her shoes, trailing each set of bare toes through the water at the lake's edge. He often came down to the lake at night, to escape the oppressive silence of the dungeons at night. Here, the whispering leaves and rippling water kept him in good company.   
  
He knew she had heard him by the way her shoulders tensed. For a moment, his heartbeat quickened. 'Please just ignore it,' he thought at her, 'it was only a raven, waking from a troublesome dream.'   
  
He saw her shoulders rise and fall as she took a deep breath, and thought he might be off the hook for that moment, relaxing as he watched her rich brown curls waver in the breeze. Funny how the tables suddenly turn and he is the nervous schoolboy, hoping not to be caught out after curfew.  
  
Then, without turning toward him, her voice, quiet but confident rings out through the cool air.   
  
"Good evening, Professor." 


	2. Sticks and Stones

Sticks and Stones  
  
******  
  
"Hello, Professor."  
  
Severus paused almost imperceptibly at her words. He wasn't used to being caught off guard. One doesn't survive as many years as he had as a spy against Voldemort without a practiced ability to keep the upper hand.   
  
"Miss Granger."  
  
Hermione chanced a look his way. He was staring out into the dark haze over the water. The moonlight was kind to him, she thought. His forehead was slightly wrinkled, the corners of his eyes less so. She wondered if a person's happiness in life could be measured by the ratio of smile lines to forehead furrows. The corner of her mouth twitched, a parallel expression to one of Snape's own that she had marveled at so often.  
  
Snape toyed with a small twig, weaving it back and forth through his fingers enjoying the snap as it broke in several places. He ought, he knew, to take points from Gryffindor. To skip the opportunity would be out of character. He shifted uneasily on his feet. He wasn't feeling like himself tonight.   
  
"I'd be careful if I were you. Dangling your feet in the water like that, you're liable to get your toes nibbled on by the giant squid."  
  
Hermione was floored. Did Professor Snape just say "nibble"? She bit her lower lip, suppressing a giggle.   
  
She had known he was there when the breeze shifted directions and the damp earthy smell by the lake suddenly took on a new layer that reminded her of the potions lab. Extraction salts and herb mixtures, and another scent that she could never identify but she just knew to be his own unique smell. Besides, she had watched him walk in this direction enough times now to know that this was his spot. She had seen the worried little twigs scattered around the tree stump where he now sat, weaving another piece between his fingers.  
  
Snape noticed he was being watched and abruptly dropped the shoot. Hermione thought his cheeks might have even grown a slightly pinker hue. Her own, she guessed, were definitely a bright rosy color, judging from the warmth she felt radiating from her face, her reaction to having been caught staring.  
  
Hermione had come here several times. She knew that inevitably, one night their paths would cross, and she had imagined how he might react. Would he be angered at her invasion of his privacy? He would probably scorn he for being out after curfew. Maybe a detention? She wouldn't have minded too terribly. Truth be told, she found herself longing for an excuse to spend more time down in the dungeons these days, and she wasn't about to try to kid herself into believing it was for the atmosphere.  
  
She felt she ought to say something, to start a conversation, but was afraid of ruining the moment.   
  
Instead, she too sat down, in a small patch of grass near his tree stump, and began choosing unusual pebbles from her surroundings to make a geometric pattern on a bare patch of ground in front of her. There were gray ones with light speckles scattered across the surface, red-brown ones with white, lightning-like cracks running through them, and cloudy green ones that reminded her of the smooth pieces of glass she used to find on the beach as a child during summer vacations with her parents.  
  
She was growing a little sleepy now, and when she yawned, a shiny black stone caught here eye. Picking it up, she felt that it was still quite warm from sitting in the sun that afternoon. She marveled at this, smoothing the stone over her palms and along her inner arm where the skin was so sensitive. She held it up to her cheek and smiled slightly at the warmth.  
  
He had been watching her play. She looked so innocent. If he had been in a darker mood, he might have sniggered at the fact that she had found an intellectual way to pass her time, even sitting in the dirt by the lake. But now he just sat and admired her work as she arranged the stones. And then she yawned. He briefly wondered if she would fall asleep right there. He would like to smooth the hair away from her face, he thought, and kiss her forehead as she slept. He could carry her back up to the castle, and for those brief few moments feel the warmth of her body against his chest. He sighed.  
  
When he looked down, she was cupping something in her hand against her cheek and smiling up at him. His face must have betrayed his curiosity. As he watched, she stood and stepped closer to where he sat. She walked behind him and he felt a sudden sense of loss that she must be leaving, going back to the castle. He closed his eyes and breathed deeply, trying to savor the last of her vanilla scent that lingered in the air. But it didn't weaken, as it should, if she were walking away. And then he felt something warm and smooth being pressed against his cheek.   
  
He stiffened at her touch, and his eyes flew open as he turned his head to look at her in alarm, but in return he saw only a warm smile and her hand had stayed where it was. Could this amazing creature of the night really be touching his face in such a caring gesture? He lifted his hand to the side of his face, almost expecting that when it got there she might vanish, a figment of his imagination, but his smooth palm touched the warm back of her hand and she still remained.  
  
His eyes softened. He felt her fingers slip from beneath his own and then he was holding the stone there by himself, and he saw her head moving toward his and was frozen in place as her lips descended on the back of his hand to lightly brush across his skin. He closed his eyes again, and heard the rustle of her cloak, as she turned and began walking up to the castle. When he heard the creak of one of the entrance doors being opened, he opened his eyes and turned back toward the castle, where he saw she had paused briefly to look back at where he sat, his hand still pressed against his cheek.  
  
He turned back toward the lake and as he heard the doors close, he held the stone in front of him for closer scrutiny. Unconsciously, he held the stone up to his face and felt its warmth against his lips. Standing to leave, he dropped the stone into a pocket of his robes and scowled. 'You sentimental old fool,' he berated himself.  
****  
A/N: Thanks to all who reviewed my first chapter. This is my first attempt at fanfic and it was flattering to get a response. Serpent tongue, ChishionoTenshi, Clarity, Ginny R, and Kylaia: thanks for the complements. I'll update as often as I am able. Ginny R, I've tried to be clearer on the POV switches in this chapter; thanks for the advice and let me know if it's still not clear.  
  
To be honest, I'm not sure where I'm going to go with this; I wrote that first chapter when I was a little tipsy and hadn't really planned any plot smirk. I had a few ideas though as I was driving home today and I guess I'll see where they take my favorite snarky pair. 


	3. Flight of the Raven

Flight of the Raven

******

Hermione slowly made her way back to Gryffindor tower, thinking of the way the skin on the back of his hand had felt beneath her lips. Somewhat rough, as one would expect a potion master's hands to be, but unlike his cool exterior, they were warm – exceedingly warm, like glowing coals. 'I've always been too well behaved to play with fire.' she mused, sleepily, 'well, maybe it's time to overcome that reputation.'

She went through her nighttime routine without any thought and soon was snuggled beneath the covers in her four-poster, Crookshanks purring happily at her side, a picture of contentment. Before long, Hermione slipped off into a deep slumber.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

__

Hermione was lying on her back in bed, her eyes closed, and had the uncanny feeling that she was being watched. A cool breeze blew across her face from the open window, and she peered out beneath her lids to see small, coal black beady eyes staring down at her, at either side of a beakish....beak? She opened her eyes all the way to find a large raven standing on her chest staring down at her. 

"Who are you?" she thought out loud. She glanced downward to its feet, expecting to see a roll of parchment tied to one of its legs, some explanation for this nighttime visit, but there was none. The raven stared at her, imploring her...to do what?

"Caw, caw."

The bird began flapping its wings and it hovered above her for a few moments before starting for the window. Hermione felt an inexplicable loss when the bird took flight, and after a moments pause, she lunged after it, taking hold of its wings where they connected to the body.

Now, she was small, and there were smooth black feathers all around her, and a rush of wind past her face, and she realized they were flying. Out the window they went, and past her spot at the lake's edge, over the treetops of the forbidden forest. 

The wind was stinging her eyes, so she flattened herself against the dark feathers, burying her face in darkness. There, although the night air continued to fly by her, she felt safe and warm. There, nestled in the warmth of the bird's down, she lost herself to the quick beat of its heart and the feeling of the soft feathers against her skin.

After some time, the raven slowed its pace and began circling, prompting Hermione once more to peer down at the scenery that flew by. There was a stone structure, a large body of water, a row of dry leafless trees (). The bird set down on a sturdy branch of one of these trees and from over is shoulder, Hermione gazed at the water's edge, where a cloaked form bent, lapping water from the lake. He turned, to rest his back on a rock nearby and the moonlight unmasked his tortured features.

Hermione looked at the man by the water. His robes were torn and blood-stained. A large cut lay bare on his left torso. He was trembling, and then leaned over to wretch. When he had righted himself again, he pushed his hair away from his face, and that is when Hermione screamed, because the face she saw belonged to Severus Snape, and the cuts in his cheeks were crawling with maggots. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"No!" she yelled, and but she found herself unable to move, and as she opened her eyes, she realized why, for her sheets were wrapped haphazardly around her. Her skin was coated with a thin layer of sweat and her heart was beating quickly. Snape was in trouble. He needed help now, wherever he was.

She quickly disentangled herself form the sheets and put on her robe and slippers, padding her way down out of Gryffindor tower to Dumbledore's office.

"Chocolate frogs."
    
    "Sour worms."

"Jolly ranchers" 

At this the stone gargoyle guarding Dumbledore's office swung aside, revealing the spiral staircase to his door. Hermione found herself standing outside of said door, reconsidering whether or not to bother Dumbledore with her dream. Maybe it was just that, a dream. 

Her decision was made for her however, as she heard Dumbledore's kind voice bid her to come inside. He sat behind his desk in a blue, star tinseled robe and a blue embroidered cap, his fingers steepled and a friendly twinkle in his eye. Hermione seated herself in one of the overstuffed chairs across from him and looked down at her hands, not sure where to begin.

"Something is troubling you, Miss Granger?"

"Well, yes. You see...I'm worried that Snape might not be alright." She glanced up to gage his reaction to this statement, but he looked only contemplative.

"Well, it depends on how you, Miss Granger, would define alright. Severus has a few problems, I admit, some that could be remedied quite easily I'm sure, others, that would require significant psychotherapy—"

"No, I mean, pardon me, but you misunderstood. What I meant is that I think he may be in danger, right now, and that he needs help."

"And what brought you to this conclusion?"

Here, Hermione paused. She did not believe in the tea leaves and crystal balls and dream interpretations that Trelawney practiced. But what did she have to go on here, besides the contents of a dream? She looked up to find Albus' omniscient twinkle returning her gaze.

"Would it be easier to show me?" Albus offered, proffering the pensieve he kept in a cupboard on the wall.

Hermione looked somewhat helpless. "Just start at the beginning, dear," Dumbledore suggested.

And so, she began pulling the liquidy silver strands of thought from her temple into the pensieve.

*****
    
    Thanks to everyone who left feedback. I'm sorry I let it go
    so long between posts, but real life was giving me the dementor's
    kiss for a while there. Let me know what you think of this chapter.
    I am trying to make my story different from the others but it's hard
    to avoid cliches when there's so much out there already.
    Tonight I was complaining that there wasn't enough flow of good
    fan fic since the new book came out, and then I realized I was a
    hypocrite for expecting my favorite authors to be providing me with
    entertainment when I wasn't writing anything myself. 


	4. Phoenix Counsel

_Phoenix Counsel_

_

* * *

_

Dumbledore, back from witnessing Hermione's dream memory in the pensieve, sat with steepled hands and furrowed brow. She looked at him, once again amazed at the fact that he was actually sitting across the desk from her, looking none the worse for the wear. It turns out that fawkes and Dumbledore had more in common than anyone knew. There are ways besides horcruxes of leaving a bit of ones soul in a place for safekeeping. And so, in the final battle against Voldemort earlier this year, when one of the fleeing deatheaters in a last cruel gesture cast the inflamare curse at Dumbledore's white tomb by the lake, it erupted in flame once more and he was reborn from the ashes. His return was one bright spot on a very dark day; the many others that fell were not so lucky. It was odd, now, trying to go back to business as usual around Hogwarts. For the first time in a long time, there was no immediate threat looming before them, and the golden trio, Harry especially she suspected, felt a bit lost.

Dumbledore drew her out of her thoughts. "Miss Granger, have you ever experienced something like this before?"

"No, sir. I don't know what it means. I don't know if it's real. Should we check if he is in the dungeons?" Hermione was pacing back and forth in front of Dumbledore's desk with increasing speed.

Dumbledore considered Hermione's path to and fro in front of him. "There will be no need. Professor Snape, I assure you, is safe and sound, nursing a glass of firewhiskey in his private chambers if I had to wager a guess."

Hermione's cheeks colored at this, and she stopped and stared. Then it had just been a dream. She came here and disturbed the schoolmaster in the middle of the night for nothing, and..."Wait a minute", she thought, "how does Dumbledore even know...?"

"I have my ways, Miss Granger. Not only Molly Weasley feels the need to keep watch over those close to her by magical means," he gestured at a complex, clocklike device with a golden print of a phoenix in the center on the wall opposite, twinkling at her surprise, "Although if it would set your mind to rest, I would be glad to floo Severus just to be sure..." Dumbledore started to get up and move toward the fireplace.

"No sir," Hermione interjected, "That won't be necessary. I'm very sorry to have disturbed you in the middle of the night. I'll go now."

More embarrassed than she had been in a long time, Hermione made quickly for the door.

"Miss Granger?"

Hermione paused and turned back to see a serious expression on her headmaster's face. "I want to thank you for sharing this with me. Dreams should never be ignored; they often represent reality in ways that are not immediately clear. I hope you will let me know if this happens again?"

"Yes, sir. Goodnight." Hermione slipped out the door.

Dumbledore looked at the closed door for a moment, waiting for her footsteps to recede, then stood and approached the fireplace, grabbing a small handfull of floo powder off the mantel. He tossed the powder in, then stuck his head into the green flames.

"Severus my boy, I think we need to have a talk. May I come in?" And without waiting for a reply, he disappeared into the fireplace.


End file.
